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IN THE VALLEY 
OF DECISION 



BY 

LYNN HAROLD HOUGH 




THE ABINGDON PRESS 
NEW YORK CINCINNATI 



^"t 



r* 



Copyright, 19 16, by 
LYNN HAROLD HOUGH 



MAR 25 1916 

0)CI,A427394 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Getting Lost in the Crowd 7 

The Man Who Finds Himself 21 

The Town and the God of the Town 37 

The World We Must Master and 

the World We Must Serve 51 



GETTING LOST IN THE 
CROWD 



GETTING LOST IN THE 
CROWD 

The place was Herald Square in 
New York city. The time was one 
night after a Presidential election. 
Manhattian was pulsating with po- 
litical excitement. One vast, seeth- 
ing mass of people congested Herald 
Square. There were thousands on 
thousands of them, some shouting, 
some blowing horns, some watching 
the election returns which were dis- 
played in front of the New York 
Herald Building. The yotmg man 
had foimd a place to sit slightly 
above the crowd and where it flowed 
past him on every side. From his 
vantage groimd he looked out on the 
restless sea of people. He was thrill- 
ing to the finger tips with the vivid 
human sense of it all. A smile of 

9 



lo IN THE VALLEY 

amusement flitted suddenly over his 
face as he thought of his friends and 
wondered where they were. Nine of 
them, students in a New Jersey insti- 
tution of learning, had come to New 
York to spend the evening together. 
In the jostling, pushing crowd near 
City Hall four of them had been sep- 
arated from the others. The remain- 
ing five had merrily walked through 
the Bowery past Tammany Hall on 
Fourteenth Street, and when they 
came to Twenty-third Street en- 
coimtered another mob of fiercely 
pushing people. Emerging from this 
human maelstrom, two of them were 
left together. They continued to 
walk through the streets up Fifth 
Avenue to the Waldorf, then over to 
Herald Square. In the first encounter 
with the converging human rivers 
there the two were separated, and so 
the young man foimd himself alone. 



OF DECISION II 

A man with a quiet face and ob- 
servant eyes was sitting beside him. 
He looked at the fresh and eager 
young face near him and then re- 
marked, *'It's about all a man can 
do to keep from getting lost in a 
crowd like this.'^ 

The young man laughed. 

''There were nine of us three hours 
ago/^ he said. ''All the time we've 
been getting separated from each 
other. I lost the eighth man just a 
few minutes ago." He was silent a 
moment and then added whimsically, 
"But I haven't lost myself." 

The keen eyes of the man beside 
him were suddenly bent searchingly 
on his face. 

"You'll be a happy fellow if you 
can always say that," he observed 
with a certain note of seriousness in 
his voice. "Most of the people I 
know have gotten lost in the crowd." 



12 IN THE VALLEY 

In a few minutes the two had sep- 
arated, each going his own way, and 
at the railroad station the young man 
foimd his eight friends, hilariously 
jolly, glad of the result of the elec- 
tion, and full of the bubbling, joyous 
energy of youth. The train rolled 
out of the station, and as it moved 
along the young man repeated to 
himself the words he had heard in 
Herald Square, ''Most of the people I 
know have gotten lost in the crowd." 
The whirring wheels below him 
seemed to take up the words and to 
murmur a low, insistent echo, ''Lost 
in the crowd; lost in the crowd.'* 

An hour or two later, after cheery 
and comradely "good-nights" had 
been said, the young man found 
himself alone in his room in the big 
brick dormitory. Then the lights 
were turned off and he was safely in 
bed, very weary, but very wide- 



OF DECISION 13 

awake. He seemed as he lay there 
to be still on the train, and the 
wheels were still muttering, ''Lost in 
the crowd.'* Why had the phrase 
so seized upon his imagination? Why 
did it keep pounding away at the 
door of his mind like a guest arrived 
in the night, who must rouse the 
sleepers before he will be admitted? 
Was there some personal message in 
the words which he ought to hear 
and heed? 

That curious awareness about life 
and its values which sometimes char- 
acterizes a wakeful hour at night 
came to him, and his weariness 
seemed to pass from him as thoughts 
kept coming into his mind. From 
some cranny in his memory a line 
from Wordsworth came marching 
forth. ''The world is too much with 
us,'' he found himself repeating as 
he lay upon his bed. A sentence 



14 IN THE VALLEY 

from a distinguished preacher whom 
he had recently heard quickly fol- 
lowed: **Men were meant to be 
makers of the world; the world is all 
too often the unmaker of men." 

An utterance from a clever essay- 
ist emerged into the clear light of 
consciousness: *'So often you cannot 
see the idea for the people." Then 
the wheels seemed to be moving 
under him again with their reiterated 
murmur, *'Lost in the crowd." 

Suddenly there came clearly be- 
fore him the picture of the old farm 
where he had been brought up. How 
well he knew every acre of it ! There 
he had guided the plow, there he 
had gone through all the toil of the 
farmer's year, and there he had 
planned to find a larger, richer life 
in the world outside. He had worked 
his way through college, leaving his 
younger brothers to bear the burden 



OF DECISION 15 

of the life of the farm with his father, 
and now he was doing graduate work. 
He expected to receive his doctor's 
degree the coming spring, and the 
road of life lay before him; it seemed 
a long road, and a very alluring 
highway. 

During the last few years he had 
mingled with many types of men. 
He had been constantly receptive. 
He had tried to get something from 
every man he met. He had opened 
his life completely to the currents of 
the life about him. Had he become 
a mere reflection of his environment? 
Had he surrendered more than he 
had gained? Had he been dazzled 
by the play of light and the rich 
glow of color, and was all this won- 
derful new life, beside which the old 
farm seemed so provincial, deceiving 
him? Had he brought from the farm 
something more valuable than the 



i6 IN THE VALLEY 

things he had found in the busy 
highways of men? Was he in danger 
of losing it? Was he in danger of 
being lost in the crowd? 

He realized that he had been cast- 
ing off ideas and opinions and prac- 
tices of that simple and direct and 
earnest old life out of which he had 
come. He sometimes thought of its 
directness as impracticable in the 
world of to-day, of its simple piety 
as quite impossible in the complex, 
disillusioned society where he was to 
make a place for himself. 

A picture came before him of his 
father conducting family worship. 
How quiet and deep and real it had 
all been! His father often made 
grammatical blunders, '^But it was 
the King's English, sure enough," he 
found himself saying; "at least it was 
English which reached the King." 

He called himself up suddenly. 



OF DECISION 17 

Did he believe in the King? Did he 
believe that Some One heard prayers 
like those of his father, all ftill of 
great human outreach after the help 
of God? To be sure, he had never 
actually denied these things, but he 
knew now that they had been slip- 
ping from him. His world had a 
great many people, but, to be quite 
straightforward and honest, it didn't 
have any God. 

Jn college he had taken a Young 
Men's Christian Association course 
on the life of Christ. It all came 
back to him now — ^the portrait of the 
One who had walked through the 
world with so many currents playing 
upon him, but always sternly true to 
that relation to his Father which was 
the basis of all his life. The multi- 
tudes kept pressing upon him, but 
they never mastered him. He was 
never lost in the crowd. 



i8 IN THE VALLEY 

The young man stared wide-eyed 
into the darkness. ''IVe been only 
a sponge/' he cried, ''and IVe ab- 
sorbed the wrong things/' 

Like a moving picture, the life of 
the last years passed before him. 
How gay and bright, but how soul- 
less it all was! And the bitterest 
thing about it was its futility. The 
finest part of the gayety, the best 
part of the brilliancy, could have 
been kept without the surrender 
which he had made. 

But just where was the point of 
failure? Just how could it have been 
avoided? He saw it all clearly 
enough now. He had lost the sense 
of God and of life's greatest realities 
because he had stopped taking God 
seriously. He had been more in- 
terested in his relations to a multi- 
tude of careless people than in the 
one great relation of life. You have 



OF DECISION 19 

to keep obeying God in order to 
keep sure that there is a God. He 
had made the crowd the niler of his 
life. He had sought to please the 
crowd. That had been his most 
eager desire. He had lost God in 
the crowd. And he had lost himself 
in the crowd. 

His mind seemed curiously still at 
this point, and then in the stillness 
he seemed to hear his father's voice 
in prayer. Tears started to his eyes. 
His father was praying for him — 
the boy away at the big university. 
He could fairly hear the words in 
which he was asking God that this 
son of his might bring honor to Christ 
and be a helper of the world. 

The yotmg man sprang from his 
bed. He knelt beside it. His face 
was tense with struggle and de- 
cision. 

'^O God," he cried, ''help me to 



20 IN THE VALLEY 

put Christ, and not the crowd, in 
command of my life/' 

He remained kneeling for a long 
time, while a strange and wonderful 
peace crept into his sotil. Then the 
knowledge of a great physical weari- 
ness came to him. He lay down 
upon the bed again, and soon was 
sleeping as quietly as a little child. 



THE MAN WHO FINDS 
HIMSELF 



THE MAN WHO FINDS 
HIMSELF 

The cub reporter sat beside his 
friend in the grandstand of the Polo 
Grounds, New York. It was a Sat- 
urday afternoon off and the two 
young men had come uptown to see 
a game of ball between the Giants 
and the Pirates, A wonderful day 
it was, and a multitude of New York 
fans gazed down at the players. 
Rube Marquard was pitching for the 
Giants and he was playing a phe- 
nomenal game. 

''He doesn't look much like a Big 
League failure to-day," remarked the 
cub reporter to his friend. 

''You're right about that,'' replied 

the other. "McGraw knew what he 

was about when he paid all those 

shekels for the Rube. But it was a 

23 



24 IN THE VALLEY 

close shave. Why, I've seen him put 
in the pitcher's mound when any 
scrub player could have knocked his 
balls an3r5vhere he wanted to." 

''What was the matter with him?" 
asked the cub reporter. 

''Stage fright, I guess," was the 
reply. "The Big League audiences 
got on his nerves. It took all the 
stuff out of his arm to see the crowd. 
He wasn't used to so much company 
and he lost his head. But he's 
bravely over it now, except on a bad 
day once in a while. And even 
Matty, who's as cool as ten cucum- 
bers, has his bad days. I saw Mc- 
Graw take him out of the game in 
the third inning one day last week." 

By this time the game was be- 
coming all-engrossing and conversa- 
tion lagged. The great throng in 
which you might have seen bankers, 
lawyers, ministers, college presidents. 



OF DECISION 25 

and men and women from every walk 
in life had settled down to enjoy a 
hard-fought battle between men who 
were putting every ounce of energy 
and every quality of brain into the 
game. With perfect poise and abso- 
lute self-control Marquard was put- 
ting balls over the plate which moved 
like lightning and were a perpetual 
bewilderment to the Pirates, who 
stood waiting to be mowed down 
like ripe grain. 

''That's going some," said the cub 
reporter as the crowd burst out in 
spontaneous shouting, the kind of 
heart-warming tribute New York 
gives to the man who plays ball 
with cool self-control and brilliant 
mastery of all his resources. 

The tension eased for a time. One 
inning succeeded another. It seemed 
that all the fighting quality the 
Pirates brought would be unable to 



26 IN THE VALLEY 

make an impression on the Giants 
to-day. Marquard was the Gibraltar 
which was completely invulnerable. 
He held the safety of the Giants in 
his hands. 

Then in the seventh inning, with 
the score two to one in favor of the 
Giants, something happened. Was 
the arm of the brilliant pitcher weak- 
ening? It began when a Pirate made 
first in safety. Then one man was 
put out. But a moment later a 
Pirate struck a ball with a cut of his 
bat which sent it straight and sure 
and brought him to first and his 
friend to second. The next man to 
the bat was put out. But the one 
following found the ball, put it where 
it wasn't expected, and in a moment 
there was a Pirate on first, a Pirate 
on second, and a Pirate on third, with 
two outs. The crowd breathed hard 
as a famous Pittsburgh slugger came 



OF DECISION 27 

to the bat. Marquard threw a ball. 
One strike. He threw another — a 
baU. He threw again, a second ball. 
The next "was a strike. The crowd 
breathed more easily. But the next 
was a ball. Two outs, three men on 
bases, and the batter with three balls 
and two strikes ! 

''I wonder if we shouted too soon," 
murmured the cub reporter. 

Thousands of faces were drawn 
with excitement. Gray-haired men 
leaned forward as if their future de- 
pended on the behavior of the pitcher 
now. It was one of those thrilling 
moments which only the genuine fan 
can understand. 

And what about Marquard — ^the 
man who again and again had been 
called the Big League failure, the 
man whose arm had weakened sea- 
son after season at the sight of the 
big crowd? Did the old stage fright 



28 IN THE VALLEY 

come back to him now? Surely, in 
this testing moment, if ever, he 
would weaken. The crowd leaned 
forward breathless. 

In the pitcher's mound Rube Mar- 
quard stood quietly. He seemed an 
incarnation of calmness. He never 
looked at the crowd. He seemed 
unconscious of its tense expectancy. 
There was a sudden movement of 
his arm. His whole body seemed 
poised. All his energy was gathered 
and put into one terrible throw 
which sent the ball, true as a rifle shot 
from a sharpshooter, over the plate 
at the right height, at just the un- 
expected instant. 

Three strikes and out and the 
Pirates took the field. 

A man whom the cub reporter rec- 
ognized as a Wall Street magnate 
was sitting in a box just below him. 
He turned to a friend and said, *^A 



OF DECISION 29 

test like that proves it. Marquard 
has found himself at last.'' 

From that moment the game was 
virtually decided. The Pirates did 
not successfully rally and the game 
ended a victory for New York. It 
was a hard-fought game every mo- 
ment, and Marquard had won it by 
perfect self-control as well as by his 
pitching arm. 

_ That night the cub reporter fotmd 
himself seated in a church on the 
West Side, A distinguished preacher 
from the Middle West was address- 
ing a large gathering of young people. 
Only a paragraph in the next day's 
Luminary would be given to the oc- 
casion unless the preacher said some- 
thing tmusual or startling which 
could be featured. Alert for possible 
headlines, the cub reporter sat wait- 
ing for the speaker to begin. 

There was a buzz of subdued con- 



30 IN THE VALLEY 

versaticn all over the house. Groups 
of young people from many churches 
had come to hear the distinguished 
preacher, and they had much to say 
to each other before the meeting 
opened. The presiding officer rose. 
There was a hymn, sung with amaz- 
ing zest by hundreds of eager young 
voices. Then there was a prayer, a 
special piece of music, and the 
speaker of the evening rose. 

He was a rather tall man with an 
athletic figure, keen, flashing eyes, 
and a vibrant voice. His theme was 
''Having a Life of Your Own/' 

The cub reporter remembered that 
this preacher had made a remarkable 
record as an athlete in a certain great 
university. He was trying to remem- 
ber his batting record, when — ^he for- 
got about everything except the voice 
which was speaking and the thing 
which was being said. The speaker 



OF DECISION 31 

who can completely master a re- 
porter — even a cub reporter — ^has 
imusual power. This man cut away 
from the conventional. He used raw, 
biting, penetrating words. He passed 
by the tmessential and brought you 
face to face with the heart of his 
theme. There was a wealth of illus- 
tration, from literature, from life, 
from sport — all focused like the rays 
of light through a burning glass on 
the one blazing point which he 
wanted to make imf orgetable to his 
hearers. Now he was pouring satire 
like hot lava upon the lives which 
have no individual integrity — ^no 
deep loyalty to their own meaning. 
Now he was portraying with glow- 
ing, burning words the man who 
lives in •noble faithfulness to the 
deepest meaning of his own life. 
''It's a great thing," he cried, ''to 
discover yourself! It is a greater 



32 IN THE VALLEY 

thing to be true to yourself. That 
is your best gift to the world/' 

Then, with a sudden turn, he 
brought his hearers into the presence 
of the Man of Galilee. You saw his 
tinilinehing loyalty to the real mean- 
ing of his own life — ^his dauntless in- 
tegrity of personality. Another quick 
movement of thought and you saw 
him as the great revealer, the one 
who interprets men to themselves, 
who reveals to them the meaning of 
their lives, and gives them the power 
of loyalty to their own personality. 
One last change of position and he 
was picturing the young people be- 
fore him, each one loyal to his own 
manhood, as Christ interpreted it to 
him, each one offering to God and to 
the world the priceless gift of this 
deep kind of personal integrity. 
''Never be contented until you find 
yourselves," he said, ''and then never 



OF DECISION 33 

be contented unless you are being 
true to yourselves.'' 

The address was over. There was 
another outburst of zestful singing. 
Then the gathering dispersed. The 
cub reporter found himself walking 
alone on Riverside Drive. He looked 
down at the mysterious night beauty 
of the Hudson. He watched the glow 
of lights on the ferryboats, and the 
flash of the great electric displays to 
be seen on the Jersey shore, with the 
far-off shining of the stars above. 

He was still in the glow which the 
speaker at the West Side church had 
created. He was no longer the cub 
reporter, just beginning to be proud 
of a touch of cutting cynicism about 
his work. He was a man who had 
been facing some of the deep, won- 
derful secrets of personality. He re- 
membered the words of the magnate 
at the Polo Groimds, ^'Marquard 



34 IN THE VALLEY 

has found himself at last!'' How 
strangely they fitted in with the 
words the preacher had uttered to- 
night, '^Never be contented until you 
find yourselves." And that young 
Syrian of so many centuries ago knew 
the secret. His way of life was the 
way for every man, and in it a man 
would find his own life coming to 
strength and power. Here in this 
big city the Galilasan was like a 
moral and spiritual powerhouse — ^he 
could keep a man loyal to his own 
life. 

The cub reporter was standing still 
in a secluded spot. A hum, low and 
insistent, came from other parts of 
the city to his ear. He looked up at 
the white silent stars. 

''O God,'' he prayed, 'T want that 
thing — 3, life stronger than all the 
push and pull of this big town — ^His 
kind of life, and yet my own life, too. 



OF DECISION 35 

Help me to find myself'' — ^the 
thought of the great pitcher and his 
perfect self-command in the testing 
time flashed through his mind, and 
he added, ''and to keep a grip on 
myself in the hardest hour." 

Below him the river caught up a 
thousand gleaming lights. The hum 
of the city made low music in his 
ears. He stood for a long time. His 
face was set with decision, and in his 
eyes there was a deep glow of quiet 
joy. Before him life was to imfold. 
But he had foimd himself. 



THE TOWN AND THE GOD OF 
THE TOWN 



THE TOWN AND THE GOD OF 
THE TOWN 

Madison Square Garden was 

palpitating with excitement. New 
York was in the midst of one of its 
periodic campaigns against the domi- 
nation of corrupt political forces. A 
new mayor was to be elected, and 
altogether, there was an opportimity 
to put the men who played politics 
for revenue only out of control. A 
crowd of many thousands had gath- 
ered within the ample walls of the 
great building. The best elements of 
the city were making articulate their 
hatred of municipal misgovemment. 
A young lawyer sat' in his chair 
engrossed with his own thoughts and 
paying little attention to the people 
all about him. Two years ago Philip 
Morton had come to the metropolis 

39 



40 IN THE VALLEY 

after a really brilliant cotirse in the 
nation's greatest law school. He had 
been without influential friends to 
speak for him, and getting a start 
had been a hard matter. But he had 
worked on with cool, dogged per- 
sistence. Several times he had 
changed employers. Once he found 
himself in a fair way of becoming 
the partner of a shyster lawyer, but 
the methods of the man who made 
him such a good financial offer soon 
sickened him, and he left the office 
without much ceremony. Once he 
found himself one of a large group 
of legal advisers of a corporation 
doing a big business. The situation 
seemed to offer much in the way of 
experience at least. But here again 
he found himself revolting from the 
ethical standards of the organization, 
and once more withdrew. He had 
begun to wonder if his standards 



OF DECISION 41 

were quite impossible in the bustling, 
active, powerful city to which he 
had come. 

Recently he had secured a position 
with a firm which he knew was held 
in high regard. To have the smallest 
place with that group of lawyers had 
brought a thrill to his heart. Better 
days seemed at hand. But only yes- 
terday he had been given a case to 
look into which had aroused his ap- 
prehensions. He had gone carefully 
over all the facts, and had reviewed 
important decisions which might 
have a bearing upon the situation. 
It seemed to him a very clear case. 
The man who was ready to be a 
client of the firm had the law tech- 
nically on his side. But ethically he 
was evidently, and miserably, wrong. 
Would the firm take up the case and 
help this man to secure money to 
which he had no moral right, through 



42 IN THE VALLEY 

a cleverly manipulated legal tech- 
nicality? 

He had left the office this after- 
noon pondering the problem. By a 
strange coincidence he had come 
down in the elevator with two sharp- 
featured, keen-eyed, efficient young 
lawyers belonging to another firm. 
One of them was saying: "Of course 
we must see that our client gets all 
that the law allows. It isn't our 
business to settle subtle questions of 
ethics. We are not conducting a 
school of moral philosophy. We are 
conducting a business concern and 
we've got to make it go." 

Did that represent the spirit of 
this amazing, brilliant, wonderful 
town? Must a man make moral 
compromises in order to succeed 
here? Would his firm take the case 
which he had been examining? And 
if it did, what would he do? Would 



OF DECISION 43 

he put himself out of a job again? 
Or would he crush his scruples and 
accept the standards of the firm? 

At this point not even a very pre- 
occupied young man could busy him- 
self longer with his own thoughts. 
The multitude of people in Madison 
Square Garden had simply gone wild 
at the entrance of the man who was 
the big feature of the meeting. They 
had listened with more or less pa- 
tience to other men, but this man of 
rugged, dominant personality, who 
knew how to give and take hard 
blows, whose sentences as he spoke 
were like a succession of pistol shots, 
this suit of armor made into a man, 
this politician with moral ideals and 
practical efficiency welded into one, 
was the man they had come to hear. 

The young lawyer was seated 
where he could have a particularly 
clear view of the speaker, and could 



44 IN THE VALLEY 

hear every word which fell from his 
lips, and even every modulation of 
tone. He looked with increasing in- 
terest at the man who stood with 
such silent power in the very poise 
of his body while he waited for the 
applause to cease. 

Then his speech began. The iron 
jaws opened. There was a curious 
flash of belligerent-looking teeth, and 
biting, incisive, penetrating sentences 
fell from his lips. Here was a man 
who knew life to the center. He 
knew New York thoroughly. He was 
no vague and impotent visionary. 
He was a cool, hard-headed man of 
affairs. But he was a man of moral 
standards too. And as his words 
leaped out like the eruption of a 
volcano, he made you believe in his 
standards, his ideals, and you felt 
that he was the mouthpiece of a 
town where morals were to be put 



OF DECISION 45 

into command. The rush of his in- 
dignation against the political cor- 
ruption which had disgraced the city- 
was like the sudden impact of a 
cavalry charge. The energy of his 
confidence in the men of New York 
to rise en masse and crush the evil 
forces was more than an enthusiasm. 
It seemed the power of an awakened 
people expressed in compelling 
speech. 

The yoimg lawyer turned from the 
speaker to allow his eye to move 
over the thousands who were listen- 
ing to him. How completely they 
responded to every word! How en- 
tirely they were at one with the 
moral passion which fltmg itself out 
in the sharp and telling epigrams 
which came from the speaker's lips! 
The very soul of New York seemed 
revealed in these thousands of eager 
faces. And that soul was not a wor- 



46 IN THE VALLEY 

shiper of mammon or greed or in- 
dulgence. Perhaps the town had a 
great moral God after all. 

At the close of the meeting the 
young man took a subway train for 
Brooklyn Bridge. He wanted to 
think things out. He had a feeling 
that he must fight things out, that 
in some strange, definite way this 
was for him a night of destiny. 

A little later he was walking over 
the bridge with his great, swinging 
stride. He turned to look back to- 
ward Manhattan. His eyes fell on 
the great shadowy buildings which 
stood on and about Wall Street. 
They were clearly silhouetted in the 
bright moonlight. The words of a 
certain poet written about this very 
spot rang in his ears — ''that vast 
Necropolis of souls." Was it just 
that, and always that, or was it 
sometimes the place of the birth 



OF DECISION 47 

pangs of sotils, the place of testing 
where a man might become strong? 

He suddenly seemed to see a vision 
of two cities each called New York. 
One was a city of relentless greed 
and remorseless cruelty, a city of in- 
dulgence, sometimes refined, some- 
times gross, but always morally dis- 
integrating. Its god was self. Its 
passions were material success and 
material enjoyment. The other was 
a city full of self-sacrifice and service, 
full of the ministry of the strong to 
the weak, of that comradely helpful- 
ness which brings not only a helper, 
but a friend, to the man in need. It 
was a city of belligerent moral pas- 
sion ready at any risk of personal 
ease or fortune to fight the battles of 
good morals and good government. 
Its God had a conscience, and its 
God had a heart. 

Of which one of these cities would 



48 IN THE VALLEY 

he be a citizen? With which group 
of people would he ally himself? 
Would he become a part of the New 
York which had only a body, or 
would he become united with the 
New York which had a soul? 

To-morrow morning he would be 
asked for his report on the case which 
he had been investigating. Was he 
ready to be called a visionary, to lose 
his position, to endanger his pros- 
pects for the sake of the moral voice 
which spoke so insistently within? 
Once again he seemed in Madison 
Square Garden. He was a part of 
that rising tide of civic passion ready 
to battle and sacrifice for the sake of 
a righteous town. The sharp, com- 
manding words of the speaker once 
more rang in his ears. And again he 
felt their magnetic moral power. 

He closed his fists tightly as his 
face set in decision. 'Ill do it," he 



OF DECISION 49 

cried, ''no matter what it costs! I'm 
going to belong to the New York 
which has a soiil." 

The next morning it was a calm 
and steady yoimg American who en- 
tered the office of the senior member 
of a great law firm to make his 
report. He was clear of eye and his 
definite, sharply cut features were 
good to look upon. He stated the 
essentials of the case with brevity, 
but with entire lucidity. 

"And what would you advise in 
this case?'' asked the great lawyer, 
with a mysterious gleam in his eye. 

"I don't think we can have any- 
thing to do with it, sir," replied 
Philip Morton, steadily. 

There was a moment's silence, and 
then a light shone suddenly on the 
strong iron face of the senior member 
of the firm. There was something 



50 IN THE VALLEY 

very revealing about his face, but he 
only said quietly: 

''I quite agree with you, Mr. Mor- 
ton. You may take up the Wiscon- 
sin lumber case now. You will find 
the papers on your desk." 

With a deep rich glow in his heart, 
Philip Morton left the office of the 
senior member of the firm. The ex- 
pression he had seen on the face of 
the great lawyer seemed a priceless 
possession. It came to him quickly 
that he had seen the same expression 
on many faces the night before. In 
that expression there was a revela- 
tion of the God of the town — a God 
of justice and honor and unflinching 
integrity. There might be another 
New York with another deity, Philip 
Morton reflected, but this city with 
a soul was the city of his citizenship 
— Si good, great town in which to 
dwell. 



THE WORLD WE MUST MAS- 
TER AND THE WORLD 
WE MUST SERVE 



THE WORLD WE MUST MAS- 
TER AND THE WORLD 
WE MUST SERVE 

Elizabeth Dalton made a very 
charming picture as she sat in her 
steamer chair. The deck steward 
had tucked her in comfortably and 
the fresh breeze blowing against her 
face had brought an unwonted vivid- 
ness of color. Locks of hair which 
had stolen out were dancing with the 
winds which blew, and the eyes be- 
neath were flashing with the enjoy- 
ment of good health and the 
particular pride of being perfectly 
fit the second day out. The ship 
had not passed far beyond New 
York Harbor when Elizabeth's 
mother, submitting to the inevitable, 
had retired to the privacy of her 
stateroom. She was now in a con- 

53 



54 IN THE VALLEY 

dition where the presence of the 
nearest and dearest friends seemed 
an impertinence, and the only re- 
mote approach to comfort lay in 
absolute quiet. So Elizabeth found 
herself left to her own devices. 

These devices took the immediate 
and unromantic form of going away 
to sit and think. Her steamer chair 
was particularly well placed, and on 
this superb day, to watch the sun- 
light flashing on the waves, to let 
her eyes wander over the far ex- 
panse of blue, and to feel the long, 
easy, steady motion of the ship, was 
an experience bringing satisfaction of 
its own. Then Elizabeth wanted to 
think. So much had happened in the 
last few months that it seemed as if 
life had taken the bit in its teeth 
with the firm intention of running 
away with her. She wanted time to 
think things out, to have her mind 



OF DECISION 55 

catch up with her experiences, as she 
would have phrased it. 

Leaning back with her head 
against the pillow of her steamer 
chair, Elizabeth called back some of 
the pictures which recent days had 
printed imperishably upon her mind. 
First, then, was the wonderful com- 
mencement week at one of America's 
most notable colleges for women. It 
was the end of four years of hard 
work and zestful, fascinating life, 
with a splendid company of girls 
who knew how to set college life to 
music. Sometimes it was a march, 
and sometimes it was a waltz, but 
everything was done to a musical 
accompaniment. Elizabeth had en- 
tered college well prepared and she 
had used her mind with all the en- 
thusiastic power of which she was 
capable. In a strong class she had 
graduated at the head, and this not 



56 IN THE VALLEY 

by neglecting social life or athletics. 
She had taken part in every gay and 
happy festivity and more than one 
trophy in her room told of her ath- 
letic powers. The vacations at home, 
with the clash of mind with mind, 
when the steel blade of her father's 
thought roused and stimulated her, 
and the subtle quality of her mother's 
mental sympathy exerted an unfail- 
ing charm, were periods of unalloyed 
pleasure. The crown of all her days 
seemed at hand when commencement 
arrived with its thousand and one 
joys, its honors, and its half-awed, 
half -thrilled sense of a great world 
waiting, its doors swimg wide open 
to bid her welcome. 

After commencement had come ten 
days at Silver Bay on Lake George. 
One of Elizabeth's best friends was a 
member of the junior class, and when 
she decided to be one of the delega- 



OF DECISION 57 

tion which attended the student con- 
ference in the Adirondack country, 
the possibility of having ten more 
days of intimate college companion- 
ship, stolen, as it were, after gradua- 
tion, was too much for Elizabeth, 
and she decided to go along. What 
had been meant to be a pleasure 
excursion proved much more than 
that. The contact with the groups 
of girls from all the great Eastern 
women's colleges was itself full of 
interest and stimulus, and before 
many days had passed she found her- 
self under the spell of the moral ptir- 
pose and the spiritual glow of the 
conference. Religion had always 
been a somewhat formal matter with 
Elizabeth Dalton. She enjoyed the 
church's stately ritual. She pos- 
sessed a quiet aesthetic devotion, sin- 
cere enough, but never deepened or 
made poignant by a sharp sense of 



58 IN THE VALLEY 

personal need. Her life had always 
seemed very ftill and very satisfac- 
tory and her soul never cried out for 
God. 

Something nearer to restlessness 
than she had ever known took pos- 
session of Elizabeth as the steady, 
persistent, pervasive atmosphere of 
Silver Bay made itself felt. The 
leaders of the conference were bril- 
liant college women, bubbling over 
with good spirits and zest in life, but 
with a deep and noble seriousness, a 
sense of religion as something alive 
and dominantly in control which 
gave Elizabeth a new and odd feeling 
of being apart. She seemed shut 
out from the inner contacts of the 
conference because these others pos- 
sessed some secret which she did not 
know. She had never felt shut out 
from anything before. 

She was walking out alone one 



OF DECISION 59 

evening and thinking it all over. 
She sat down in a quiet spot over- 
looking the lake, with its never- 
failing beauty, and the guardian hills 
which watched over its slumbers. 
Two young women approached the 
spot where she was sitting, one of 
whom she recognized as a teacher of 
her own college, who had come to 
Silver Bay with the delegation. The 
other was one of the conference lead- 
ers whom Elizabeth had particularly 
admired. It was she who was speak- 
ing as the two passed by. 

''That Miss Dalton of your group 
seems to have poise and personal 
charm as well as beauty," she was 
saying. 

The words of the reply came with 
low distinctness to Elizabeth's ears. 

''Yes, and Miss Dalton is one of 
the most brilliant students we have 
had in recent years. She hasn't 



6o IN THE VALLEY 

come to the vital hour yet. She has 
tasted a great many experiences, but 
she has never tasted life. I wonder 
what will happen when she does? 
Will she master the world or will she 
be its slave? Will she tnm from its 
problems with distaste or will she 
serve it with hearty self -giving?'' 

The two were moving slowly along 
the pleasant moimtain path and in 
the still night air another sentence, 
this time from the conference leader, 
reached Elizabeth. 

'We cannot go far tmtil we learn 
that we live in a world we must 
master and a world we must serve." 

Elizabeth sat very quietly ponder- 
ing for a long time after the two had 
passed by. 

The remaining days of the con- 
ference were full of vivid impressions. 
The athletic events were engrossing 
to Elizabeth, and she made a record 



OF DECISION 6i 

in tennis which caused much com- 
ment. The classes came to a real 
climax of interest, and the evening 
addresses combined a hearty hu- 
manity with an imusual quality of 
spiritual power. 

On the closing Sunday the very 
atmosphere seemed electric with the 
energy of deep purpose and devo- 
tion. But as the boat moved out 
from the dock and took its way 
amid the magic beauties of Lake 
George, the words which echoed in 
Elizabeth Dalton's mind were these: 
''She has tasted a great many ex- 
periences, but she has never tasted 
life/' They came with a sort of sting. 
She wondered if they were true. 

Now, sitting on the deck of the 
swiftly moving Atlantic liner in the 
steamer chair, she tried to analyze 
herself and her life to see what it 
was that she had missed. 



62 IN THE VALLEY 

There was a sudden movement 
among those near her. Steamer 
chairs were vacated as groups of 
people hurried to the rail to watch a 
French liner which was passing near. 
Elizabeth joined the other passen- 
gers and looked with interest on the 
fine ship which was moving toward 
the land she was leaving. When she 
put down her glasses, her eye was 
caught by the gleam of a sorority 
pin, exactly like one which she wore 
with much affectionate pride. She 
hardly waited to examine the owner, 
a small, lithe woman dressed in black, 
before she addressed her. A grip of 
the hand, the exchange of a few 
words, and Elizabeth had found a 
new and interesting acquaintance. 
Mrs. Emma Maiden had graduated 
from the college of which Elizabeth 
was a new alumna ten years before, 
and soon the two were walking about 



OF DECISION 63 

the deck talking of the dear old 
campus, the faculty, the buildings, 
and a score of matters of common 
interest. 

''And after your stay in London, 
you will go back to China?'' Eliza- 
beth was saying with some wonder 
in her voice, after they had been 
talking for half an hour. 

With simple dignity and noble self- 
control, Mrs. Maiden had told her of a 
husband and a little boy both buried 
in a New England graveyard. Eliza- 
beth had a quick sense of standing 
on the edge of a precipice and gazing 
down into terrible depths. Here she 
stood, her own life overflowing with 
joy, and beside her a woman who 
had graduated from the same college 
and belonged to the same sorority. 
As soon as she knew her name, she 
had remembered the tradition of the 
gay, able, and achieving student of 



64 IN THE VALLEY 

ten years ago. Now her life, which 
had been full of love and all the 
shining lights of home, was bitterly 
empty. Elizabeth shuddered. China 
must have been depressing and ter- 
rible enough with a husband and 
wonderful baby to engross one's at- 
tention. But to go back alone! It 
seemed incredible. She repeated her 
question, her tone full of bewilder- 
ment. 

Mrs. Maiden looked up, her eyes 
glowing with quiet light. 

''Yes," she replied, ''back to China. 
There we worked together. There 
we learned to understand the people 
and to love them. In one way John 
gave his life for China, and there lit- 
tle John was born. I am eager to go 
back to the work we were doing 
together." 

"But how can you endure it all?" 
broke in Elizabeth, impulsively, and 



OF DECISION 65 

then, seeing a sudden look of pain, 
which swiftly, as it passed, revealed 
depths of woe and struggle, she cried: 
''O Mrs. Maiden, wiU you forgive 
me? I did not reaHze that words 
about your sorrow must be like 
swords." Her own eyes were full of 
tears and Mrs. Maiden replied 
quietly: 

^'I am not sorry you asked just 
that question. It took me back to 
the worst, most bitter hours for a 
moment. But they are gone now.'' 
She hesitated a little and then con- 
tinued: ''You see, I had attended 
many a feast of joy. And I had 
looked on many sorrows in other 
lives. But I did not know what it 
was to sit in the strange, dark ban- 
quet hall, where every guest is a 
grief, and you sit at the head of the 
table looking at their thin, pallid 
faces, with no way of escape, for 



66 IN THE VALLEY 

they are your guests, and it is your 
hour of companionship with pain/' 

Elizabeth remembered tales she 
had heard of the wonderful imagina- 
tion which in college had clothed 
every thought with unusual imagery. 
She bent forward to listen as her 
new friend went on: ''Of course there 
are many things you can never do 
and many things you can never un- 
derstand until your own hour in the 
somber palace of grief comes, so 
though my friends in China did love 
me, they knew that I could not really 
go with them into some experiences. 
My life had been superficial in suf- 
fering. I had never tasted its bitter 
fruit." Elizabeth started, but she 
had only time for the thought of the 
night at Silver Bay when her friend 
went on: ''I am taking something to 
China which I did not carry nine 
years ago. Then I went with the 



OF DECISION 67 

enthusiasm of a great joy. Now I 
go with the enthusiasm of a great 
grief/' 

There were a few minutes more of 
conversation and the two separated. 
Elizabeth found herself repeating the 
words ''the enthusiasm of grief.'' 
Was this the thing she had not felt? 
Was this the fruit she had not tasted? 
She had seen the misanthropy and 
cynicism which often come after dis- 
appointment and suffering. Had the 
teacher whose words she had over- 
heard been wondering if she would 
ever be capable of the courage and 
the self-conquest which give wings 
to pain? 

During the days which followed 
Elizabeth saw much of this woman, 
who seemed to have found some 
secret of vital energy which played 
like a fountain in a sun-scorched 
desert. She felt the full personal 



68 IN THE VALLEY 

power of her friend as they talked 
together of many things. It was 
simply true that every quality of 
her life was at its best. Sorrow had 
refined and ennobled and in some 
strange way energized her. Rare as 
were her nattiral endowments, they 
had come to full flower after the 
torturing hours of pain. Life was 
full of interest and charm to this 
woman. The world roused her agile 
and alert mind. But as Elizabeth 
analyzed it she said to herself one 
day: ''She gives you a sense of hav- 
ing mastered the world, because its 
cruel blows have not hardened her. 
I wonder if the world can hurt any- 
body who insists on loving and serv- 
ing it when it has done its worst?" 

The last night on shipboard the 
two stood together in the moonlight 
on a quiet part of the deck. The 
elder woman had come to love the 



OF DECISION 69 

brilliant and beautiful girl, who 
seemed all the while to be reaching 
out, trying to grasp and to under- 
stand life's secret. There was a won- 
derful path of light on the sea. 
Elizabeth touched the arm of her 
friend. ''Your life is like that," she 
said softly. ''You always stand and 
walk where the silver light falls. I 
see it all, but I cannot tell yet how 
you do it. Can you tell me your 
way of finding the silver light?" 

Mrs. Maiden smiled gently. Then, 
as memories came, her face took on 
a sterner, sadder, stronger look. In 
the quiet, with all the interpreting 
beauty of the night, she would try 
to put her secret into words. 

"At the worst moment," she said, 
"when it seemed as if the cords of 
my life must break with pain, it 
came to me in quite a new way that 
God knows what it is to suffer and 



70 IN THE VALLEY 

to endure, that Calvary is God's 
coming into life and lifting his arms 
upon life's cross of pain, and that I 
cotild go on because God understood 
and cared. It was not really a new 
thought, and yet it seemed made for 
me in my hardest hour. It had been 
within reach for years, but I had 
never really grasped it until I needed 
it most.'' 

Elizabeth knitted her eyebrows. 
''It sounds wonderful and beautiful," 
she said, ''but I can't just get hold 
of it." 

"No," replied her friend; "a truth 
like that is apt to seem a little out of 
reach until we need it personally. 
Then it comes within our grasp." 

There was a long silence. At last 
Elizabeth spoke, while the moonlight 
gleamed on her face and in her clear 
upturned eyes. 

"I see that I must go lesson by 



OF DECISION 71 

lesson and not try to master the 
whole book at once. But you have 
showed me what it means to master 
the world. And I know now the 
only spirit in which one can serve it 
effectively. I know, too, where you 
find the silver light.'' 

She paused a moment and then 
said in a low, steady tone: ''One of 
our college lecturers once said, 'Life's 
interpreters can only be those who 
have lived.' I know now what he 
meant, and" — ^her eyes looked out at 
the moonlit water — "I'm going to fol- 
low the gleam." 



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